Chapter 19

Sorry for the long wait on my stories. Lots of family medical problems took priority and kicked the muse’s ass.

Reminder – As I said in my notes at the beginning of this work of fiction, I have taken liberties with places and dates. If that bothers you, I will gladly refund your money.

The next day we purchased any supplies that the ladies thought we needed, and made sure that our wagons and animals were in good shape. The Castro’s did the same thing. We were going to travel together to their ranch, where they would pack up whatever they were taking with them. They also informed us that some of their vaqueros would want to go with them to California, but most, with their families, would stay with us. Fidel assured me that they were all good men and asked me to treat them well.

“Fidel, loyalty, trust, and respect are a two way street, if I get it, I return it. If those men are as you say they are, they will not regret staying with me,” I responded.

“Thank you James,” he said, “that was my one concern.

We made good time, even with a long noon stop, as we followed the river upstream. When we reached a nice location, with ample grass along the river, we decided on an early stop. After a pleasant evening of conversation and Spanish songs, we got a good night’s sleep.

The next morning, after a breakfast of bacon, biscuits, beans, and coffee, we got our miniature wagon train moving.

As Keviu and I were preparing to scout ahead, Fidel rode along side of me and said, “Sometime this morning we will be on your new land, and shortly after noon we will arrive at your new hacienda, your new home, and I wish you great joy in it.”

“Thank you Fidel,’ I replied. “I hope that you, and your wife and sons, are able to do all that you hope to do with the gold on your California ranch.”

We rode on together for the next two hours as Fidel gave me some pointers about ranching along the river, and some insight into the ranch hands that would be staying with me. It seemed that, what I would call the foreman or range boss and several of the top hands would be moving with him to California.

“The men who will be staying are very good at what they do, but I’m afraid that none of them are take charge kind of men, you will be short of leaders,” he said. “I feel bad that I’m leaving you in that position.”

“No problem,” I responded, “I’m a hands on boss, and Rory, Diego, Cal, and Tye, are all very capable. Cal and Tye may be young. But they both are especially experienced with cattle, and they have both seen the elephant. With several years of wartime experience behind them, they will be able to step up and meet the challenge.”

At that point we noticed a dust cloud ahead of us. We halted our horses and waited for our wagons and people to catch up with us. As the wagons reached us and pulled to a stop, Fidel, Keviu, and I were joined by Tara, Rory, Cal, Tye, and a half a dozen of Fidel’s vaquero’s. I was pleased to notice that Fidel’s men were as ready for trouble as were my people. Nobody had guns drawn, but it was obvious that they all were ready to do so at a moments notice.

As the strangers drew closer, Fidel said, “It’s that pedazo de mierda Whiplash, and the worst of the men that work for him.”

My Spanish was good enough I knew that Fidel was not happy to see Whiplash.

When the approaching caravan pulled to a stop, I examined the people in front. A buckboard was being driven by the biggest man I had ever seen; I mean he was the size of Andre the Giant of wrestling fame. Next to him was a man who had to be Whiplash, he was, in the words of one of my army buds, “as fat as a town dog”, he wore a sweat stained black suit and what had started life as a white shirt. With his black hat and pencil thin black mustache, he looked like a Hollywood villain right out of central casting.

On one side of the buckboard, dressed all in black, was a tall, at least six feet tall, dark haired lean man with a mustache and high cheekbones, who kept his narrow eyes shifting between me and my scoped sharps in its scabbard. I noticed that he also had a scoped rifle with him. I knew right away that he was the most dangerous man I had yet to meet since my move back in time. One of us was going to kill the other sooner or later, and I could see in his eyes that he felt the same way. On the other side of the buckboard was a very short man with a tied down dual rig containing what looked like two .36 navy colts. The colts had notches on the handles; this one was a show off, but a dangerous show off.

Whiplash looked us all over with some confusion, then he said, “Well Castro, stocking up I see, did you buy plenty of lead and powder? The way things have been going for you, you may need it in the near future.”

As he said that the short man with the tied down .36s started to giggle. When I looked at him he glared at me and started to finger one of his colts.

Whiplash glanced at him and said, “Not now Rocky, not now, but maybe soon.”